My Secret Life : Part 1
by Araushnee
Summary: This is a backstory, or maybe prequel, to my main story The Lord of Song. These are the memoirs of the Knight Captain, otherwise known as the Headmistress of Crossroads Academy.
1. Foreword

**My Secret Life**

**Memoirs of the Knight Captain**

Since my return from Rasheman, my life has been afflicted with a great emptiness – the dull ache of loss plagues my waking hours, and in sleep I no longer dream. Many of my old friends are here again with me, and in the time I spend with them I seem to forget, for a while, my hollowness. A great forest spirit once told me that for something to go back to what it once was is a feat rarely accomplished; a soul once sundered can never again be made whole. I refused to accept that at the time – I _couldn't_ accept it. Now I see the wisdom in those words; I am broken, and know of nothing that can heal me. I earned a temporary respite from the horrors of the Wall of the Faithless, but I know that I am destined to go there once again – for I am the Faithless, I refuse to bow before a God, and for that I am damned. I have lost so much, and in the end I know I am doomed to lose everything.

Though bittersweet, in memories I find solace for my grief, and to that end I write these memoirs. Draw from them what you will; it seems even I have not learned from my experiences, so I don't expect you to, either.


	2. The Shards

**The Shards**

For me it began the first moment I held a silver shard in my hand. My friend Bevil sneered at it; a silvery slip of inconsequence. We ventured into the mere for a scrap of metal; being shot at, scratched and bitten by lizardfolk and swamp beetles seemed to him a high price to pay for such a thing. I didn't contradict him – I was speechless.

It seemed a trifling thing; such an unassuming thing! Something you could lose easily in the bottom of your pack. But I knew I would never lose it. As I picked it up time seemed to slow, and for a moment, it was all there was, and I heard none of Bevil's complaints, only the strange, barely perceptible singing of this tiny shard. _My_ shard. I wanted to clutch it to my chest, to consume it, never to be parted from it. I walked back to the village in a daze. _The village_; it had ceased to be _my_ village. Amy, my closest friend, was dead, _and I had the shard._ I belonged with the shard; I knew that from the first moment I felt its presence, in the ruins of Illefarn.

I wasn't sorry to leave West Harbour. I was pleased, even; Daeghun sent me off to investigate the shard, he made no move to take it – I could keep it. That was all that mattered.

Imagine how I felt when I finally got to Neverwinter, to be presented with _another_ shard by my uncle. I all but snatched it from his hand in my eagerness; an eagerness that my companions had begun to take note of, and were becoming concerned with.

They offered to take it in turns to carry them – they said it wasn't fair that I should always be the one to be the target. But I would have gladly painted a great red bull's-eye on my back if it meant keeping the shards, and I refused. Pointedly.

My meeting with Aldanon the sage (the lore master now happily ensconced in my own library) supplied me with another piece of my silvery puzzle. Another shard; and with each addition I felt the power between them grow, like a proud and magnificent chord at the end of a symphony. With that piece came answers – my shards were once part of a githyanki silver sword.

And it was from the githyanki a recovered the next shards, and with them, a revelation. A piece of the silver sword had embedded itself in my chest; it was that which caused the shards to resonate; to sing to me. I was marked, had been marked since that day when the sword shattered, twenty years ago at the battle of West Harbour.

xxx

This was the first shard that wasn't handed to me willingly. This was the first shard that did not call out to me, singing its song of hope and power. As I looked into that wrinkled, mischievous old face, I felt annoyed. Enraged, even. How dare this shrivelled old fop keep what's rightfully mine?! But I played my part. I slaughtered the all the fiends Ammon Jerro sent, only to be told I had been duped and that the real shard was in the possession of a single woman with a few guards, _in the Moonstone Mask,_ of all places! What a place to draw a mass murderer! Naturally, the patrons were slaughtered, along with the staff, the guards and the member of the Nine; and Ammon Jerro took the shard. That is on Nasher. Perhaps his aides will go on a censorthon when this is published – I care not. These days I seem to care very little, about very little. I suppose that is part of my malaise.

The remaining shards seemed to be handed to me; it was like they had a will of their own, always yearning to come together, gravitating towards me. Garius', Ammon Jerro's, the Shadow reaver's; with each new shard I grew stronger, and now I couldn't be without them – I wear the sword all day, everywhere. And when I sleep, it is never far from my side. I cling to it like a moth to a dying flame.


	3. The Shadow Thieves

**The Shadow Thieves**

My decision to join the Shadow Thieves is something I look back on with regret. I admit they were useful and resourceful allies, and in joining them I prevented, perhaps, the worst of their nefarious schemes. I tempered them, at least. But it is an association I have never been able to rid myself of, and some things, once done, can never be undone, _there's never a guarantee of coming back_. I thought I was doing what had to be done; I believed Cormick and the Watch wouldn't help me, I thought Moire would be able to sneak me into Blacklake for just a few favours.

Perhaps I was wrong, on both counts, but everyone is righteous in hindsight. Still, I did what I had to, and avoided killing where I could. And in the end, they honoured their end of the bargain.

Now, both my contacts in Neverwinter are dead by my hand; Axle, who fancied himself the leader, and Moire, his lieutenant. Our relationship was something I could not afford, so I removed them. Again, I believed I was doing what had to be done; how much I've changed since then!


	4. Lord Nasher

**Lord Nasher**

At the time, I never believed Lord Nasher would keep a Shadow Thief for a squire, but with the benefit of hindsight, I see that he could never pass up the chance to reign in such a powerful individual. It was I who conquered the docks for the Shadow Thieves, and in conquering me, he believed himself to regain a measure of lost control – and perhaps he did. I did his bidding, for our interests were aligned; a mutually beneficial agreement, though I never pretended to be anything that I wasn't.

It is no secret that I disagree with many of the decisions Lord Nasher has made. Why did I agree to join the Neverwinter Nine, then? I knew Lord Nasher was just trying to bring me closer to him; to keep me under control, but I knew that Lord Nasher was aware of my Shadowy relations, and I thought that once the war was over, I might need some kind of protection.

Perhaps it sounds cowardly to you, but I hoped that Nasher would not arrest one of his own body guards. It was my way of assuring him that I had cut my ties to the Shadow Thieves.


	5. Qara

**Qara**

_Qara!_ I could never understand that pyromaniac! In some ways her and I were not so different – both powerful sorceresses in our own right. Arrogance is a failing of youth; I suppose on some level I believed myself invincible – how else could someone so young face such dreadful challenges? Qara went beyond arrogance. How, after everything she had seen us achieve, could she think that Garius could stop us? Was she so deluded that she thought her own paltry skills could win the day?

We stood with her against the machinations of those who would destroy her, but she betrayed us in a petulant attempt to prove herself right. Because she couldn't accept Sand's criticism; he was caustic, but his remarks were not unjustified. Was that why it was so unbearable for her? Because she knew he was right? Was it easier for her to turn on us than to face up to the truth of her own character? I think so; and she is not the only one – this is a failing I have seen time and again, and not just among the young and inexperienced.

I wish I could say I mourned her loss, but it would taste a lie.


	6. Githyanki

**Githyanki**

Is there anything as ugly as a githyanki? I sometimes wondered if it was their hideous appearance that made them so unpleasant. I know Zhjavae was always grumpy when her veil came off in the night.

To this day I still expect a host of githyanki to come battering on my gate. The Sword of Gith is with me always; everyone knows I have it, anyway. Surely the githyanki will not suffer me to keep such a thing, and in my experience they are either exceedingly zealous or exceedingly dim; there was never any shortage of them throwing themselves on my blade (or on my spells, as it were).

For reasons I find difficult to explain, I do not want the githyanki to ever recover Gith's sword. It is something I dread.

But sometimes I do wish they would try; my life has become too quiet. When at war, every great general proclaims their wish for peace, but now that it has come, I feel more conflict then ever. I was not made for a quiet life.


	7. Crossroad Keep

**Crossroads Keep**

Crossroads Keep. A fitting reward, you think? It was a halter around my neck; or at least, that's what it was supposed to be. But as I spent my hours signing paperwork and organising the rebuilding; as I scoured the country searching for individuals to restore this rundown castle, it became something more.

The Sunken Flagon, Duncan's Inn, is as fine a place as any to relax after a long journey, one cannot live there – it is a hotel, little more. West Harbour, where I grew up, spent my childhood; I realise now that it was never my home. Perhaps it was the coldness of my father, Daeghun, or maybe mud farming just never sat well with me. I had a few friends – Amy, Bevil – even a wizard mentor who helped me hone my natural magical ability (even if Tarmas always affected an air of grumpiness), but it was lacking something I didn't even know I needed until I was given Crossroads Keep.

Everyone needs a personal domain, where they can order things as they wish – everyone needs a home, at some point or another. The Keep is mine, and, I hope, others' as well. I feel welcome here; as I try to make those others who live here feel welcome.

But now that the threat of the King of Shadows is ended, something in the keep seems lacking. There's no excitement in the air, no tension, nothing going on – just the dull trudge of everyday life. Crossroad Keep is now little more than a way station on the road to Neverwinter. It needs something more; it needs a purpose, and I intend to give it one.

I have already made a number of modifications; including Illefarn and Imaskari architecture, now I intend to open it up as a centre of learning. Any young person who wishes to learn the art of adventure will be considered, but especially those with unusual talents in need of honing.

Teaching will start at the beginning of Eleint, if you wish to be considered, you need only arrange an interview with me via my steward.


	8. The Sword

**The Sword**

Perhaps it is because the shard has been removed from my chest, but the sword does not sing to me like it did. Every day the strength of the song wanes, and I have come to associate it with the waning of my years. Though I am still young, by any standards, one cannot suffer the trials I have suffered without it taking a toll; a goddess once said 'for what we want most, there is a cost that must be paid in the end.'

Perhaps the loss of the shard is somehow linked to this great feeling of emptiness that afflicts me – I thought it would leave when I removed the spirit eater curse, and indeed it lessened greatly, but it's still there, gnawing away in the background.

Some wounds go too deep, and will never truly heal. I keep the sword with me at all times; I sleep with it, eat with it, but I have done what I set out to do with it, and now it desires a new master. My adventuring days are behind me, I think; and the Sword of Gith must never become just another spoil of war.

That is one reason I chose to turn Crossroad Keep into an Academy for adventurers; I must find the next wielder of the blade.


	9. Bishop

**Bishop**

You may know him as the betrayer of Crossroads Keep, the man who nearly brought ruin to the Sword Coast, the man who turned on the Knight Captain and delivered her to her enemies. I knew him as something different. He was a friend, though he would never have admitted as much, and he was a lover. He was the only man I had ever loved, and I could find no rational reason for it. He was arrogant, cruel, callous, rude, obnoxious. But I loved him; I desired him. Gods how I wanted him. His cold, harsh voices sent shivers down my spine. His messy mahogany hair and perpetually unshaved (but _never _bearded!) face made my knees go weak. Those predatory amber eyes cut me to the core, and it felt _good._ And that finely toned body! It made me burn with desire.

Sex with him was primal, savage; we were like two wolves (and yes, sometimes Karnwyr was involved). It was unashamedly animalistic and ultimately hedonistic, and I have felt nothing similar since. All my friends thought I was mad. Maybe I was.

I have never told anyone of how I secretly planned our years; how can I have such fond memories of times that never happened? But in mere hours all my delusions of happiness were washed away. Now I just sit and watch footsteps not yet made fade away.

I never told you that I loved you; would you have cared if I had? Would you have run from me, and disappeared into the night? If it's true I was a fool, I was a fool willingly; and I don't regret a single thing.

Now he belongs to Kelemvor, another brick in his cursed wall. Perhaps one day I will be the mortar that holds him there, but I no longer want him, and he does not ever want to return.


	10. The Trial

**The Trial**

I find it hard to describe exactly how I felt being accused of the massacre of Ember. I was confused, mainly. It was so obviously a ploy by Luskan, that I wasn't sure what they hoped to achieve. They didn't even bother finding a mage to impersonate me – as a sorceress it would seem strange that I went around cutting peoples heads off! Part of me thought that they just enjoyed an excuse for slaughter, and I hated them for it.

No doubt many who read this will have also read the account of the battle of words between myself and Torio Claven. I will not repeat here what was said, suffice it to say that it was all irrelevant; in the end it came down to violence, just as it always does. Indeed, the only point I ever saw in the trial was that it brought Sand to me. He brought something to my life that Bishop never could – humour. His dry wit never failed to bring a smile to my face, and sometimes, _just sometimes_, I thought I saw a warm smile in return.

I cannot begin to communicate the bone aching weariness I now feel at the thought of battle. I am _tired_; tired of fighting, tired of killing. It was not so then. Then I welcomed the chance to meet out justice for Ember. I embraced the thought of dealing death to such a vile individual – right after I embraced Bishop on the altar of Tyr.

Perhaps it was Bishop's influence that made me slay Lorne, but to me that seems a hollow excuse. I chose not to offer mercy, and that is one of my greatest regrets. Evil begets evil, it is said, and there is some measure of truth to those words. In killing Lorne, I became a little more like him.


	11. Ammon Jerro

**Ammon Jerro**

For those of you who do not know, Ammon Jerro, the wielder of the silver sword that I mentioned earlier, was the wielder of _my_ silver sword. The Silver Sword of Gith. It was he that drove the King of Shadows back to the shadow plane during that battle at West Harbour when I was a child. It was _my_ crying that broke his concentration, allowing the blade to shatter. And that blade was now calling to me, crying out to be restored, and used in battle against the Shadow King.

Unbeknownst to me, Ammon Jerro sought the same. He was searching for the shards, he was fighting the King of Shadows. He had sacrificed everything to save the people of the Sword Coast from shadow, he sacrificed even his soul. Lord Nasher refused to aid him; the only help he could find was that from bargains struck with the lower plains. So he traded his soul for the power to stop the King of Shadows; he could see no other way. But in doing so, he began to forget that which he was fighting for – victory became everything to him, and he would sacrifice innocents to achieve his goal. He became so like the demons and devils he enslaved, that he forgot that it was the innocent he had sold his soul to protect.

It was Ammon Jerro who murdered the nobles in Neverwinter. The same Ammon Jerro that now resides in my own keep. Why do I let him stay, you ask? He has paid – will pay – for what he did. Whatever punishment you think he deserves he will receive a thousand times and more. He took that on himself willingly, for you, for me. And if he grew corrupted along the way, how many could claim that they would not? I believe he has now seen his folly, I have shown him that there was another way, and he has a great deal to teach us.


End file.
